USA Bobsled Team

7 February, 14

We come from the land of the ice and snow,
From the midnight sun where the hot springs flow.
The hammer of the gods will drive our ships to new lands,
To fight the horde, singing and crying: Valhalla, I am coming!
(Led Zeppelin, Immigrant Song)

Last week, we took a trip to Sierra Nevada, for a little snow time. Now I realize the grander scheme was to prepare for the Sochi Olympics. We are going to be the first family bobsled team in history.

All the pieces are coming together in my mind. Susan's Nordic Viking warrior heritage and my Irish fighting lineage combined to make some crazy bobsled girls. Deciding to bag an olive oil factory tour, we took in a second day of sledding up on the mountain. The first day was fun, but the snow composition created a little drag. The second day was warmer, so the snow had a chance to melt and refreeze, creating a surface that was slicker than eel s#*+. I also learned from the previous day to look for the sled with good runners on the bottom. Over time the little plastic pieces get worn out, which slows you down.

Our previous Olympic bobsled training occurred in Pinehurst, where we found a little hill on the golf course. In comparison, the Sierra Nevada slope was like a dash down the Himalayas. Each run required a 10 minute trek up the mountain. Actually it was about 5 minutes, but then I needed to catch my breath for another 5 minutes, so I am counting it all together. 

As we took turns hurtling to our doom, it was important to choose a lane. Other sledders dotted the landscape, providing ample opportunities to meet and greet on the way down. Most of the conversations were of the, "AHHHH! I can't control this thing, so get out of the way!" variety, but it was a cultural interchange, nonetheless. We learned some new words as well. Evidently cuidado is their version of the same thing. Very efficient.

The Spanish are not as concerned about public safety and liability issues as their American counterparts. It's a little more casual here. At the bottom of the slope was the parking lot and bobsled rental area. To create a little buffer, somebody had taken the snow from the parking lot and created a little berm between the ice run and the asphalt. The previous day the berm was a great way to stop any sleds. On this day, with more ice than snow, it functioned like a ramp, from which to launch a rider into traffic or parked cars, depending on the lane. I cannot describe the thrill of approaching a parking lot full of cars on a tiny little piece of plastic with nothing more than hope for steering controls. The whole thing provided some great teaching moments for our girls on how to make quick decisions, such as:

• Hmmm. Should I ditch to the right or the left?
• Which of those innocent bystanders would get the least irritated, when I run into them?

You just don't get that kind of training back home, at least not on ice and snow. We are gearing up for the 2018 Winter Olympics in Pyeong Chang, South Korea. Watch out world. Here we come!

Field Trip to Antequera, aka Middle of NOWHERE

29 January, 14

There ain't nothing here but a hole in the ground.

DISCLAIMER:

Before I get myself into a world of hurt, I must say that I actually enjoy our little junkets to places unknown. Susan works pretty hard to uncover these little gems, so my descriptions are in no way a poor reflection on her, even if she thinks they are. (I hope this works.)

After driving three hours west from our home, we finally made it to our appointed destination. We have taken in much of what Spain has to offer in terms of tourist attractions. Madrid, Barcelona and Northern Spain are on the docket for this summer. Now we are at that awkward middle ground, where we are not sure which way to turn next.

Awhile back, Katherine's history book showed some pictures of an ancient burial cave that was located in Spain, dating sometime around 3000BC, just before Madonna hit it big with her first single, Holiday. You just dated yourself.

Antequera was the town closest to the cave, so we put a few more liters in the Micra and took off for another puente, or long weekend, since the kids did not have school on Monday.

If you remember my recent blog post about another field trip, you realize that the journey is more important than the destination, an aphorism for which we are eternally grateful, lest we spend endless hours in empty pursuit.

We were pleasantly surprised to find Antequera to be a pretty little town, with ivy-covered rails running along cobblestone streets. They even had a tourist information center. It was located in the parking garage. The tourist packet was free, but you could only get information if you actually parked in the garage.

We wandered aimlessly about town for about an hour, then struck off toward the cathedral at the top of the hill. The monks of antiquity must have been shrewd land developers. They always picked the best spots for a cathedral. You never find one in the bad section of town, even after 500 years. This particular cathedral overlooked the city below, like a great stone watchtower. You could see for miles in every direction.

Our next stop was the dolmens de Menga y del Romeral, or ancient megalithic burial tombs. The largest one, Dolmen de Menga, contained several hundred persons. One of the stones weighs more than 180 tons. It is incredible to even consider how people conceived of such a structure, much less built it. They date to 3000 BC, around the same time as the pyramids of Egypt. Evidently this was a busy time for construction.

Even though the actual construction demonstrated a mastery of engineering, it still was just a big hole in the ground, at least for my kids. They were underwhelmed. The fact that three of them lined up with a mountain that looked like a sleeping woman's face and also ran along an axis that lines up with the solstice and equinox didn't phase them much either. You can't blame them for not appreciating such abstract concepts. They can't even imagine life before cell phones and microwaves, much less electricity and the wheel.
Even though the sites were not all that exciting, we still had great fun. Our girls are great travelers, and we have enjoyed each other's company over the miles. That makes it all worthwhile.

After we left the burial mounds, we still had a pretty a lot of time in our day, so we headed back to Granada for a little impromptu trip into the city. You can read about that adventure on another post.

 

I can really embarrass my kids

27 January, 13

After an amazing adventure to the middle of nowhere, we decided to salvage our day by making an unplanned excursion into downtown Granada, home to the vicious Ticket Witches. Any trip to Granada is worthwhile, parking tickets notwithstanding.

By far the coolest thing for me was watching a huge truck crane dismantle a tower crane that hung over the Granada Cathedral of the Incarnation, or Catedral de la Anunciación, which was built in the 1500's. I don't have any idea what a crane operator makes per hour, but it is likely not enough to cover the cost of dropping a huge load on top of a 500 year old church. 

After about an hour of aimlessly walking around, which in Granada is actually pretty cool, we found a bar with wifi, which accomplished two things: (1) we could all catch up on our internet addictions, and (2) we could make reservations for a flamenco show. In a previous blog, I recounted our first experience with flamenco. This show promised to be another wild affair. Susan found a supposedly famous place that several US Presidents have visited. This guaranteed the show would be full of non-Spanish tourists.

We were not disappointed. Two busloads of Asians, and our little family, filled the Lilliputian cave, including the small wooden chair proudly emblazoned with "Michelle Obama". I hold no grudge against Asians, or any group for that matter. I am simply making the point that nobody in the room hailed from Spain. The emcee welcomed all of us to the show in four different languages. Any minute, I expected some greasy lounge lizard to start belting out a Sinatra tune. A free beverage was included in the ticket price. This was tourist city. The only thing missing was a big Barnum & Bailey sign saying, "See the egress!" to eschew the hangers-on.

Attending a tourist oriented spectacle has some advantages, however. Perhaps the the most overlooked reason to follow the herd is the fact that many people before you actually liked the show. You don't get US Presidents, and Michelle Obama, to attend a shoddy performance, unless of course, it is a fundraising event. This particular family has been performing flamenco in this particular location for 65 years. That's a lot of foot stomping. Trust me when I tell you that guests were not paying for decor.

Another reason to follow the well-trodden path is that you get to look at all the other suckers and snicker at them for being bamboozled into showing up at such an obvious tourist trap. Of course we knew it was a tourist trap going in. We just didn't want to travel the extra 100 feet to attend the "authentic" show. Flamenco wasn't even on our agenda for the day. These poor folks had no choice. They just stepped right off a big bus and filed in like lemmings, looking for a cliff, all giddy with excitement at getting to see a real live flamenco show.

The best reason of all, though, is the opportunity to be an authentic tourist and turn my sweet little twelve year old inside out. The dancers, who were actually very talented, literally squeezed between the chairs as they whirled and stomped, snapped and clapped. I merrily cheered and shouted out all the Spanish phrases that seemed appropriate. The dance troupe's matriarch gave me a nice smile, when I yelled out to her, "Guapa!", which is basically like saying, "Hot mama!" Of course, "Olé!" is good for just about any occasion, including several times during a flamenco performance. Every time I shouted out a phrase, Katherine would cringe a little bit lower in her seat. She began hissing at me to shut up, which only encouraged me to sound off even louder. I began to get the timing down, so that my voice would ring out during a lull in the music.

Finally, Katherine hit on a grand inspiration. She needed to use the bathroom. Remember that this was in a cave, with only one entrance/exit, which was used by the performers. We were trapped inside, much to her chagrin. One of those tourists let her off the hook, though, by breaching all decorum and getting up between two acts. I had no choice but to release my prisoner.

She did come back, however, which afforded one more opportunity for torture. At the end of the show, all the dancers picked people out of the crowd to get up and dance with them. When one of the dancers came our way, I was sure she wanted me to get up and I humbly offered my hand. Obviously this was a new dancer, because she left me hanging and reached for Katherine's hand instead. I could not have planned this any better. Although piqued at the rebuff, watching Katherine squirm on stage was enough to assuage my pain.

The ride home was 75% chatter and 25% deadly quiet. Susan, Elizabeth and I were all aglow, regaling the night's events. In the deepest recesses of the Nissan Micra, however, lurked a vicious black panther, poised to strike. We left her in solitude, preferring silence to thrashing. Upon reaching our flat, she quickly climbed into her tree for the night, licking the wounds of public display.

After about 15 minutes, I walked up to the room and asked to speak to her. She allowed me about 10 seconds, during which I told her to spend less time worrying about what a bunch of tourists, that will never see her again, think and more time enjoying the moment. Then I told her I loved her and left her alone.

The next morning, she was able to smile a little about the episode. We even got a few jokes in. After a couple of hours, even Katherine thought it was funny. Of all the people in the room, she and Susan are the two that would be mortified by a public display, and both of them were flanked by the two people who would give an eyetooth to get up and shake their tail feathers in front of total strangers. What a beautiful irony. Priceless.

Two busloads of Asians filled the cave's , including the chair bearing Michelle Obama's name. I have nothing against Asians. It was just obvious that none of us were Spanish. The announcer welcomed us to the show in three or four languages. Yet another sign. The show included a free drink. At this point, I began looking for a greasy lounge lizard to start singing Sina

Oh, The Places You'll Go!

10 December, 13

All good things must come to an end. On Tuesday, it was time to say, "Au revoir!" to the City of Lights. That term is used when you plan to see someone again, so I think it is very appropriate. We will definitely be back one day.

I started thinking about all of our experiences so far. We have been in Spain since August 29. That is 109 days. So what have we accomplished in our first 100 days?

• Found a great apartment
• Started school
• Obtained a car
• Completed our Residency Visa requirements
• Started learning a foreign language
• Taught English classes
• Learned new sports
• Learned new art forms
• Developed independence in our girls
• Eaten some crazy foods
• Demonstrated that we could survive, and even thrive, in another country
• Overcome great adversity
• Hosted the first Thanksgiving celebrations in La Alberca (I think)
• Hosted several other parties
• Started writing
• Found a church
• Made deep and lasting friendships
• Traveled to:
• Granada
• Granadilla
• Cartagena
• Valencia
• Murcia
• Velez Rubio
• La Manga
• Paris

I think I can safely say that we have gone there and back again, as Bilbo Baggins might say. We still have a long way to go. 

What is next:

• Nail down Spanish
• Travel more
• Barcelona
• Madrid
• Seville
• England/Ireland/Scotland
• Italy
• Germany
• Portugal
• Greece
• Start working (we have several opportunities right now)

The Christmas break is approaching, and with it, we will travel back to the USA for some much needed time with family and friends. We are all excited about it.The girls have kept a countdown for about a month. 

My mama gave me Oh, the Places You'll Go! , by Dr. Seuss, when I graduated college. Aside from the plastic lawn mower my Aunt Marilyn gave me, that was the best graduation present ever. I have lived by the words in that book. 

Oh, the Places You'll Go! 

Congratulations! 
Today is your day. 
You're off to Great Places! 
You're off and away! 

You have brains in your head. 
You have feet in your shoes 
You can steer yourself 
any direction you choose. 
You're on your own. And you know what you know. 
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go. 

You'll look up and down streets. Look 'em over with care. 
About some you will say, "I don't choose to go there." 
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet, 
you're too smart to go down any not-so-good street. 

And you may not find any 
you'll want to go down. 
In that case, of course, 
you'll head straight out of town. 

It's opener there 
in the wide open air. 

Out there things can happen 
and frequently do 
to people as brainy 
and footsy as you. 

And when things start to happen, 
don't worry. Don't stew. 
Just go right along. 
You'll start happening too. 

OH! 
THE PLACES YOU'LL GO! 

You'll be on your way up! 
You'll be seeing great sights! 
You'll join the high fliers 
who soar to high heights. 

You won't lag behind, because you'll have the speed. 
You'll pass the whole gang and you'll soon take the lead. 
Wherever you fly, you'll be the best of the best. 
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest. 

Except when you don' t 
Because, sometimes, you won't. 

I'm sorry to say so 
but, sadly, it's true 
and Hang-ups 
can happen to you. 

You can get all hung up 
in a prickle-ly perch. 
And your gang will fly on. 
You'll be left in a Lurch. 

You'll come down from the Lurch 
with an unpleasant bump. 
And the chances are, then, 
that you'll be in a Slump. 

And when you're in a Slump, 
you're not in for much fun. 
Un-slumping yourself 
is not easily done. 

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked. 
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they're darked. 
A place you could sprain both you elbow and chin! 
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in? 
How much can you lose? How much can you win? 

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right... 
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite? 
Or go around back and sneak in from behind? 
Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find, 
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind. 

You can get so confused 
that you'll start in to race 
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace 
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space, 
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place. 
The Waiting Place... 

...for people just waiting. 
Waiting for a train to go 
or a bus to come, or a plane to go 
or the mail to come, or the rain to go 
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow 
or waiting around for a Yes or a No 
or waiting for their hair to grow. 
Everyone is just waiting. 

Waiting for the fish to bite 
or waiting for wind to fly a kite 
or waiting around for Friday night 
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake 
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break 
or a sting of pearls, or a pair of pants 
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. 
Everyone is just waiting. 

NO! 
That's not for you! 

Somehow you'll escape 
all that waiting and staying. 
You'll find the bright places 
where Boom Bands are playing. 

With banner flip-flapping, 
once more you'll ride high! 
Ready for anything under the sky. 
Ready because you're that kind of a guy! 

Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done! 
There are points to be scored. there are games to be won. 
And the magical things you can do with that ball 
will make you the winning-est winner of all. 
Fame! You'll be famous as famous can be, 
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV. 

Except when they don't. 
Because, sometimes, they won't. 

I'm afraid that some times 
you'll play lonely games too. 
Games you can't win 
'cause you'll play against you. 

All Alone! 
Whether you like it or not, 
Alone will be something 
you'll be quite a lot. 

And when you're alone, there's a very good chance 
you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants. 
There are some, down the road between hither and yon, 
that can scare you so much you won't want to go on. 

But on you will go 
though the weather be foul 
On you will go 
though your enemies prowl 
On you will go 
though the Hakken-Kraks howl 
Onward up many 
a frightening creek, 
though your arms may get sore 
and your sneakers may leak. 

On and on you will hike 
and I know you'll hike far 
and face up to your problems 
whatever they are. 

You'll get mixed up, of course, 
as you already know. 
You'll get mixed up 
with many strange birds as you go. 
So be sure when you step. 
Step with care and great tact 
and remember that Life's 
a Great Balancing Act. 
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. 
And never mix up your right foot with your left. 

And will you succeed? 
Yes! You will, indeed! 
(98 and 3 / 4 percent guaranteed.) 

KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS! 

So... 
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray 
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea, 
you're off to Great Places! 
Today is your day! 
Your mountain is waiting. 
So...get on your way! 

The Redneck's Guide to Dancing

7 November, 13

One of the most popular images that comes to mind when people think of Spain is a flamenco dancer, twirling her long dress. The other is a bull-fighter. I think the images are really just two sides to the same coin.

Flamenco is one of the most sensual and sexy dances in the world. The only thing missing is the pole. It's not that they are doing anything particularly crude. It is the eyes. The dancers shift seamlessly from passion to anger to trance and back to passion again. You are forced to bend your will to theirs. They will have you. Resistance is futile.

Andalucia, and especially Granada, is the home of some of the best flamenco around. I have a theory about it that is purely anecdotal, but it sounds right to me, so it must be right, right? Granada was dominated by Muslim and arab culture for 1,000 years. Every day, five times a day, somebody would stand at the top of a minaret and call everyone to prayer. We have all heard that haunting sound, a song to be sure, but almost screaming at the same time. That is what a flamenco singer sounds like. I believe that flamenco is the quintessential blending of three cultures--Spanish, arab and gypsy.

(Well, I just read a Wiki article that said the dance originated with gypsies in the Andalusian region, so boo-yah, I nailed it.)

There are three major elements to flamenco. The dance, the guitar and the clap. You can also add a vocalist, but not always. I am a drummer wannabe, so the clapping is fascinating to me. Two or three people will start clapping, often with the dancer accompanying. They are all clapping out a different rhythm and tone. One will clap with hollowed out hands, making a bass tone, and finish by rubbing the hands together as they separate, which makes a swish, sort of like a brush on a high hat. Another will clap with flat hands, which makes that sharp, loud sound, a crack. The guitarist will add taps on his guitar as he strums out a melody. Each percussion is unique from the other ones in tempo and rhythm, but they all blend.

The guitarist plays with all five fingers over the hole, something like a banjo player. Quite often he is the singer as well, almost screaming out a song of deep passion. I remember Antonio taking us to our first flamenco. He translated the lyrics as they were being sung:

"I love you so much, I can drink your blood for wine. I will have you, or nobody will have you."

Now that is passion.

The intensity of the music and lyrics is matched, or maybe surpassed, by the dancer. Both men and women dance flamenco, usually in a round of solos. They command the stage and whip the audience with their eyes, forcing you to watch, to live, to die this moment of unequalled love. The blood drains from your body as she sucks the life out of your very soul.

The woman took her dress in her hands and wielded it like a machete, chopping up the air, as if to say, "Come and get it, if you dare." When she stomped the ground, your soul shook. When she clapped, the thunder reverberated in your spine. Several times in the performance, the woman locked her eyes with mine. I was thrilled and scared at the same time. If she had opened her mouth to expose fangs, I would have left my wife and daughter and run out of the cave, screaming like a little girl. I felt like I was riding a roller coaster without a seat belt, which as many of you know, is one of my favorite things to do.

When the man got up to dance, I couldn't help thinking of John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. He was wearing a shark skin suit, silky looking shirt, opened to show his little bird chest and long stringy, sweat-soaked hair whirling about him like a wrung out mop head. I'm sorry, but I just didn't get the same blood-sucking vibe from the guy. Maybe that's a good thing. He was a great dancer, though. Where the woman was passionate and commanding with her eyes and presence, the man was powerful with his movements and steps. It was a mix of tap dancing and stomp.

The next morning, we were driving around, looking for a place to eat breakfast. Coming around a corner, I almost hit a guy in the crosswalk. He looked up at us with intense disdain. Then I recognized him. It was the dancer. He was outside the cave. In the light. They can move around freely in the daytime! When he was safely on the sidewalk, and we had a clear path of escape, I rolled down the window and called out to him. "Hey, amigo! Baila flamenco, no? Estaba en el restaurane anoche. Muy bien!" I think I told him he was a good dancer, but I might have asked him about his bathroom habits. My Spanish is still pretty lacking. He smiled and said, "Gracias!"

We took off in our car and tried not to hit anybody else. Perhaps the only thing more dangerous than an impassioned flamenco dancer is me driving in a foreign country.

La Alhambra

5 November, 13

La Alhambra is one of the most magnificent structures ever built. It is a testimony to Man's ability to erect grand edifices that outlive their original purposes, but continue to live on in other ways. 

Some history is needful here. We remember 1492 as the year Columbus sailed the ocean blue. That is a significant date here as well, but Columbus is more of an afterthought in Spain. The most important events in that time period for Spain were the unification of the country and the completion of La Reconquista.

King Ferdinand of Aragon and Queen Isabella of Castille joined forces, in marriage and in war. They fought against the last Moorish stronghold in Spain, which was Granada. (I am using the historical term, Moors, even though that is not a favorable term today. The proper term would be Muslims, but much of the historical notes about Spain use Moors.) When Granada finally fell, Emir Boabdil, supposedly bowed to kiss the boot of his conqueror, who was on horseback. The general dismounted and gave the Emir a hug instead. 

Under Islamic rule, Muslims, Christians and Jews lived in peace for 800 years in Granada. They were neighbors and friends. The Spanish monarchs respected the Muslim monarchs and vice versa. That respect had eroded somewhat over the last century and culminated with the expulsion or forced conversion of all Muslims and Jews, on penalty of death. This began the Spanish Inquisition. 

Granada was a Moorish stronghold for so long, principally because of La Alhambra. This mighty fortress complex resides over Granada. It is imposing today. I cannot imagine what it must have been like in the Middle Ages. It is beautiful now, smoldering quietly into ruins. One millennium, more or less, makes quite a difference.

The whole complex is too big to see in one day. We only visited one part, mostly living quarters. The Muslims were known for creating lavish designs and decorating with elaborate geometric patterns. Many inscriptions adorn the palace walls. One said something to the effect, "I am the king. I was put here by God. He is the only ruler over me. I give him the glory. Now look at my clothes. They are so fine, it is obvious that I am the king." Who wouldn't serve a dude like that? Some of the sayings reminded me of Song of Solomon in the Bible. Back in the day, I am sure Solomon was being really sexy, but now his words are just funny:

"Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead. Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which came up from the washing; whereof every one bear twins, and none is barren among them. Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely: thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate within thy locks. Thy neck is like the tower of David built for an armory, whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, all shields of mighty men. Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies." (Song of Solomon 4:1-5)

I just tried to tell Susan her hair was like an old goat, her teeth looked like freshly washed sheep and she was built like a fortress. She evidently had not studied her Bible enough to know this was a high compliment. Please pray for her to get into the Word.

Truly, though, the Muslim kings outdid themselves at La Alhambra. They planted gardens and built fountains in every corner. Evidently there are 17 different classifications for wallpaper, and La Alhambra has all of them. It is a masterpiece. One interesting thing was the fact that the complex changed hands a few times between Christian and Muslim rulers. They each added their own little piece to the puzzle. The Muslims used lavish decorations as a means of giving glory to God, but they would not use any images, because that represented a graven image or idol, which was forbidden. The Christians used more understated architectural features, preferring to appear humble before God, and incorporated figures of humans and animals to reflect God's creation and act as a pictorial explanation of Biblical events. Katherine thought it looked boring. She, and everybody else, liked the Muslim features better. It was interesting to me that both parties were trying to honor God, but that the means of doing so were in direct conflict with each other. 

I asked Katherine what she thought of Muslims before she visited La Alhambra. She said they were just a bunch of crazy people that blew themselves up. Then after her experience in Granada? They were really smart and knew how to build beautiful things. 

Katherine was fascinated by the architecture. She took about 1,000 pictures. I loved the history. Susan was entranced by the grounds, fountains and flora. We all came away with a better understanding and appreciation of another culture. La Alhambra was originally built as a fortress to keep the bad guys out and to provide enjoyment to the good guys. Those roles reversed several times throughout history. Now it is an ambassador of goodwill to all people who come inside its storied walls.

It was a great day.